Page 12 of Wicked Nasty

Fine. I can play this game too, Becca.

Then come over.

No, Danny.

What are you afraid of?

Certainly not you. I’m busy.

As my frustration grows, I push myself off the couch and grab a joint from my stash. I make my way to the sliding glass door that leads to my balcony, stepping outside into the cool night air. With a flick of my lighter, I ignite the tip of the joint and take a deep inhale, feeling a sense of calm wash over me as the smoke fills my lungs. I glance down at my phone and see that Becca still hasn't responded to my texts. My patience wearing thin, I send her one more message before blowing out the smoke in defeat.

Stop being a brat and come over. We have to work on this project together.

And we will. I just had some thoughts. See you tomorrow.

I fling my phone onto the chair behind me, frustration radiating off of me like heat. "Whatever," I mutter, my voice dripping with annoyance. "I don't need Becca's nonsense on top of this shit."

Between my mother, my sister, and now Becca, it seems like all the women in my life have some sort of drama going on. Constant tears, endless bouts of bullshit.

Sighing heavily, I finish off my joint and head back inside. Shedding my uncomfortable clothes, I change into a comfortable pair of gym shorts and a worn t-shirt. Collapsing onto my bed with a heavy thud, I turn to my phone and mindlessly scroll through social media, hoping to distract myself from the chaos surrounding me.

As I scroll through social media, I come across a picture posted by Becca that stops me in my tracks. Her electric blue eyes practically jump off the screen, intensified by her dark hair and porcelain skin. The sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheeks only adds to her innocent appearance.

But as I continue to look, that innocence fades away. In other pictures, she sports a backwards hat and skate shoes, confidently holding a skateboard and a joint in her hand. Curiosity getting the best of me, I click on her profile and peruse through each photo, taking in every detail.

Then I stumble upon a candid shot of her at a wild party from last summer. Her dark locks cascade down her bare shoulders, her topless figure on display. My mouth waters at the sight, my arousal growing with each passing second. In the photo, Becca defiantly holds up two middle fingers in front of her nipples, her perky breasts tauntingly perfect. And those long, black nails... I can't help but imagine how they would feel trailing over my skin.

My eyes then fixate on her plump lips, tongue playfully sliding across them in the photo. As I lean back in my seat, I can almost feel those lips wrapped around my...

But then reality comes crashing down.

Becca is a cold-hearted bitch. She can be as pretty as she wants, but that doesn’t change her personality.

I lock my phone and put it on my nightstand, rolling over to go to bed.

Two can play that game, Becca. You better fuckin’ be prepared.

Chapter five

Rebecca

Breath Me

Istandinthedimly lit locker room, my hands trembling as I clench onto my makeup bag. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, trying desperately to conceal the evidence of last night's altercation - a deep red cut across my cheek and an angry yellow bruise forming around it. My fingers fumble with foundation and concealer, but no amount of makeup can hide the pain that radiates from my face. As I finish my routine, I take a deep breath and steel myself for another day of hiding the truth behind a mask of perfection.

What kind of mom throws plates and cups at her child? Oh, that’s right, mine. She’s not a mother. She’s a monster who has been making my life miserable since day one. I was unwanted. Only used as a pawn in her game. A game to trap my father.

The bathroom door creaks open and I quickly grab my things, rushing into a stall to avoid being seen. I shove my makeup haphazardly into my backpack, hopping up to hover over the toilet seat. As I hear familiar voices enter, I know it's Ashley and her little clique of clones. Their high-pitched giggles and squeals fill the small space.

I can feel the tension in the air as Ashley slams her purse onto the counter with a loud thud. "I don't know who that bitch thinks she is, but Danny is mine." Her voice is shrill and filled with venom.

One of her followers chimes in, sounding exasperated. "Who, Ashley?"

"Becca fucking Carney. That whore better watch her step." Ashley's tone turns menacing. "Rumor has it that she's a bastard child. Her dad had an affair and forced her mother to raise her."

Another girl adds in, her voice dripping with spite. "I heard she lets anybody stick it in her."

Ashley huffs, clearly not satisfied with the level of drama yet. "I swear to god, if Danny even touches her..."

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